Aria from the Goldberg Variations J.S. BachKayleen Asbo, pianoFrom “East Coker” T.S. EliotI said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre, The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness, And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away- Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about; Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing-

Fur Alina Arvo PartKayleen Asbo, pianoFrom “East Coker” T.S. EliotI said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Sonata in c minor for violin and keyboard J.S. BachJulija Zibrat, violin and Kayleen Asbo, pianoSwearing at God Janelle HertzlerLast night I swore at God.I don’t swear much, never at God, I waited for the proverbial lightening bolt.But I heard, “I’ve been waiting for you to be real. Now we can move forward together.”Serenata from Suite Italienne Igor StravinskyJulija Zibrat, violin and Kayleen Asbo, pianoThe Man Watching Rainier Maria RilkeI can tell by the way the trees beat, after so many dull days, on my worried windowpanes that a storm is coming, and I hear the far-off fields say things I can't bear without a friend, I can't love without a sister.The storm, the shifter of shapes, drives on across the woods and across time, and the world looks as if it had no age: the landscape, like a line in the psalm book, is seriousness and weight and eternity.What we choose to fight is so tiny! What fights with us is so great. If only we would let ourselves be dominated as things do by some immense storm, we would become strong too, and not need names.When we win it's with small things, and the triumph itself makes us small. What is extraordinary and eternal does not want to be bent by us. I mean the Angel who appeared to the wrestlers of the Old Testament: when the wrestlers' sinews grew long like metal strings, he felt them under his fingers like chords of deep music.Whoever was beaten by this Angel (who often simply declined the fight) went away proud and strengthened and great from that harsh hand, that kneaded him as if to change his shape. Winning does not tempt that man. This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively, by constantly greater beings.Fratres Arvo PartJulija Zibrat, violin and Kayleen Asbo, piano

Heavy Mary OliverThat time I thought I could not go any closer to grief without dyingI went closer, and I did not die. Surely God had his hand in this,as well as friends. Still, I was bent, and my laughter, as the poet said,was nowhere to be found. Then said my friend Daniel, (brave even among lions), "It's not the weight you carrybut how you carry it - books, bricks, grief - it's all in the way you embrace it, balance it, carry itwhen you cannot, and would not, put it down." So I went practicing. Have you noticed?Have you heard the laughter that comes, now and again, out of my startled mouth?How I linger to admire, admire, admire the things of this world that are kind, and maybealso troubled - roses in the wind, the sea geese on the steep waves, a love to which there is no reply?Chaconne in d minor J.S. Bach Julija Zibrat, violinThe Thing Is Ellen BassThe thing isto love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it and everything you’ve held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, your throat filled with the silt of it. When grief sits with you, its tropical heat thickening the air, heavy as water more fit for gills than lungs; when grief weights you like your own flesh only more of it, an obesity of grief, you think, How can a body withstand this? Then you hold life like a face between your palms, a plain face, no charming smile, no violet eyes, and you say, yes, I will take you I will love you, again.Prelude in Bb Minor, WTC I J.S. Bach Kayleen Asbo, pianoTilicho Lake David WhyteIn this high place it is as simple as this, leave everything you know behind.Step toward the cold surface, say the old prayer of rough love and open both arms.Those who come with empty hands will stare into the lake astonished, there, in the cold light reflecting pure snowthe true shape of your own face.Spiegel im Spiegel Arvo Part Julija Zibrat, violin and Kayleen Asbo, piano

If You Knew Ellen BassWhat if you knew you’d be the last to touch someone? If you were taking tickets, for example, at the theater, tearing them, giving back the ragged stubs, you might take care to touch that palm, brush your fingertips along the life line’s crease.When a man pulls his wheeled suitcase too slowly through the airport, when the car in front of me doesn’t signal, when the clerk at the pharmacy won’t say Thank you, I don’t remember they’re going to die.A friend told me she’d been with her aunt. They’d just had lunch and the waiter, a young gay man with plum black eyes, joked as he served the coffee, kissed her aunt’s powdered cheek when they left. Then they walked half a block and her aunt dropped dead on the sidewalk.How close does the dragon’s spume have to come? How wide does the crack in heaven have to split? What would people look like if we could see them as they are, soaked in honey, stung and swollen, reckless, pinned against time?

Last Touch Kayleen Asbo Kayleen Asbo, piano

From “Little Gidding” T.S. EliotWith the drawing of this LoveAnd the voice of this Calling

We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover Is that which was the beginning; At the source of the longest river The voice of the hidden waterfall And the children in the apple-tree Not known, because not looked for But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea. Quick now, here, now, always-- A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well When the tongues of flames are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one.

Hi Kayleen, thank you for such a wonderful weekend retreat at La Casa de Maria...i'm already telling my friends that it's one of the best retreats I ever attended--like an umbrella that covered so many aspects of ordinary life made sacred. And I love music,although it eluded me among gifts I would like to have, but my youngest son got it, even became UCBerkeley symphony orchestra member and occasionally fills in even when he'd graduated from his engineering degree...even joined group to Europe last May 2014 and played in Vienna and all those famous cathedrals...i look forward attending some of your lectures/events again even if I had to drive far...i thank God for you and your generosity sharing God's given gifts!...

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Kayleen Asbo

"And what will you do, I wonder, with your one wild and precious life?"